


Hollow

by BulletproofTrash



Series: Strangers and Angels 'verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Demonic Possession, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Food Poisoning, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 02, Sick Sam Winchester, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-28
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulletproofTrash/pseuds/BulletproofTrash
Summary: Dean and Sam go visit the Sweeds after All Hell Breaks Loose.Set after Everybody Loves a Clown.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester & Original Character(s)
Series: Strangers and Angels 'verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019070
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a repost from [Hollow](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3311714/1/Hollow) by user [reading](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/443241/) on fanfiction(dot)net
> 
> Credits to this work and all the works in this series belong to them.

Almost two weeks passed before Sam called Jo.

He'd come close to calling a couple of times. Had almost called the day after he'd stood by his brother as his father's body turned to smoke and ashes. Had almost called again as he'd drifted through Bobby's junkyard, listening to the sound of the Impala being disassembled, drowning in the roar and echo of Dean's impenetrable silence.

"I'm not alright."

Dean, expressionless, only the jump of the muscle in his jaw any indication that what Sam was saying penetrated.

"Neither are you."

Dean motionless.

"I'll let you get back to work."

Sam had just rounded the corner of the garage when he heard the shattering glass.

He'd turned, about to run, back to his brother, heart racing at the sounds of violence. But he'd paused, forced himself to still, to _not_ go back. He'd stopped, eyes closing, leaning a shoulder against the corrugated steel wall next to him, deep breaths, trying to steady.

Metal on metal, over and over.

Sam had opened his eyes. He'd needed to check. Needed to make sure. So he'd inched to the corner of the wall that shielded him from his brother's sight. Peered carefully around and been confronted by Dean pounding his grief and rage into the trunk of their father's car.

Sam had gotten only a glimpse, heard the muffled sound of a sob or a moan, and stumbled back, away from this evidence of his brother's pain.

He had known that Dean was broken, just like Sam himself was. But to see that brokenness—the raw, gaping wound of it—had shattered Sam in a way he had not been prepared for, and he'd sunk to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees, pressing his face into them, struggling to regain control of the fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

He'd called her that night. Not told Dean, just snuck out of the house, found a spot on the porch, away from both his brother and Bobby.

"Hello?"

"Jo?"

"Sam!"

Jo's delight in hearing his voice made Sam swallow hard, fight against the sob that suddenly wanted to force its way out.

"Hey."

It was a strangled whisper, and the woman on the other end of the connection reacted immediately.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" He could hear the fear in her tone, but didn't know how to relieve it. Couldn't speak for a moment.

"Sam?" So worried.

He cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. Stopped again.

"Sam, is it Dean?"

_Yes._

"No."

She waited for a long beat before she said, "Baby, tell me what it is."

"Dad's dead." The words finally came, and he gave a harsh cry.

"Oh, Sam." She gasped it and said it again. "Oh, Sam."

And the tears that he'd been holding in since his father's death, suddenly tore out of him. Sam held the phone tightly against his ear as he cried, sorrow and regret heaving his chest in great gulps. Dimly he could hear Jo's voice on the other end of the line, reassurance and grief of her own for him, for Dean.

Finally, Sam shuddered to a stop, head throbbing, throat raw. Drained, he sighed shakily. He whispered again, "I'm sorry."

"Sweetheart." Simple comfort.

She was quiet.

"Sugar, where are you? Come home."

Sam's chest tightened again, and he hiccupped, wiping at his eyes.

"We're at a friend of Dad's. Dean... I don't know."

"How's Dean?" she asked, though he knew she suspected.

His throat closing up, Sam dropped his head, resting his forehead against his knees. He clutched at the phone, this tangible link to someone who would listen, who would understand.

"Not good," he said. He couldn't go on.

He heard her sigh, imagined her face as she absorbed this information.

"He's acting like everything's OK, like it doesn't bother him, but I know that's a lie, that it's killing him, but he won't..." He broke off. "I don't know what to do, how to make him..."

When his voice trailed away, Jo said gently, "Honey, do you really think that he thinks that you think your father's death isn't affecting him?"

She paused. "If that makes any sense at all."

In spite of himself, Sam smiled slightly at the convoluted question.

"Sam, what I mean is, he knows you know this is hurting him," she clarified. "I don't think he's in denial about his emotions. I just think he's trying to deal with this pain the same way he deals with any kind of pain—by closing down until he can feel in control again."

"And you," she continued gently, "are dealing with it the way you deal with pain—by needing to talk it through until you feel in control again."

"Unfortunately for both of you, when he pulls away, you give chase, and that just makes him withdraw further, which makes you, in turn, run after him more determinedly."

Sam blinked, recognizing their pattern when she laid it out in front of him.

"Honey, don't get me wrong. I think he needs to talk about it. And I think he needs you to push him sometimes to open up about what he's feeling. But, be gentle with him, OK? You're both so fragile right now. I'm just afraid you might shatter him if you make him deal with all of this before he's had some time to get his feet under him. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed. "I just..."

"I know, baby," she said softly. "And I know I'm not who you really want to—who you really _need_ to—talk to about this, but I'm here, OK?"

Sam nodded, raising his head at the sound of footsteps behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see Dean stopped a few feet away, watching, face shadowed.

"I know. Thanks." Sam cleared his throat. "I need to go."

In his mind, Sam could see Jo nod, thought she understood.

"Alright, sweetie. I love you. And tell Dean I love him."

Sam smiled, recognizing that she realized why he was hanging up.

"I will." He paused. "I love you, too."

"Good-night."

Sam thumbed the phone off, and resting his elbows on his knees, stared into the distance. He heard Dean approach him, but didn't turn his head until a shoulder brushed his as his brother joined him.

"Jo?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Sam heard the remnants of his crying jag in his voice, but didn't care.

"You tell her?"

"Yeah."

Silence.

"What did she say?"

"Come home."

The jagged breath he heard Dean take at those words made Sam's eyes sting.

"And she said to tell you she loves you," he added softly.

There was no verbal response to this either, but Sam could feel the impact of the statement in the tremor of Dean's arm against his own. Sam said nothing, sitting quietly until he could feel that Dean had steadied next to him.

"How'd things go with the Impala this afternoon?" he asked, voice carefully, carefully neutral.

Wary stillness from Dean.

"May have had something of a setback," the older man admitted.

Sam was quiet. He could feel the tension radiating off Dean, waiting for his younger brother to pounce.

"Fixable?" Sam finally asked.

Now Dean was silent, and Sam felt the shoulder that had remained in light contact with his, relax.

"Yeah."

Sam nodded and the two brothers sat beside one another, each lost in his own thoughts.

After awhile, Sam stole a quick look at his brother's profile. Dean's face was shuttered, the last hints of the scars on his forehead and cheek hidden in the dark. If he hadn't known better, Sam thought he might be able to fool himself into thinking that Dean was healing; that his brother was OK.

_No,_ he thought suddenly. _No, I couldn't._ Sam studied his brother's face as unobtrusively as he could, taking advantage of the shadows, chin on the knees he'd drawn up to his chest, shaggy bangs camouflaging the eyes that were searching, trying to pin down what was off in Dean's demeanor.

_It's his eyes_ , Sam realized suddenly.

Dean's eyes had always been Sam's key to reading his brother. Whatever Dean might say, whatever his expression might convey, his eyes gave him away. If he was paying attention (and he realized now that he hadn't always), Sam knew that Dean's eyes were truth-tellers. Snapping with energy, hurting sometimes, cautious at others, but vibrant, expressive, shining with passion and pain and love.

But now...

Sam felt his heart clench when those eyes turned and caught him staring.

Hollowed out. Empty.

Even when they looked at him.

Dean blinked, and Sam felt a shudder of fear and growing despair run through his body.

"I'm going to bed." Dean stood. "See you in the morning, Sam."

Sam swallowed.

"Night, Dean."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'm not exactly sure on the timing on the episodes this season (or last for that matter :)), but in my head this comes sometime after Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things._

Unless he had a specific reason to have his phone on, Dean left it off. He was aware there were messages waiting for him. But if he kept the cell powered down, he didn't have to face the blinking lights or pinging noises to remind him.

He'd heard from Sam about that twice. Bobby'd lit into him once.

Dean didn't care.

He was sitting in the car while Sam took a bathroom break and foraged for snacks in the roadside Kwik-ee Mart. Considering, Dean pulled the phone out of his pocket. Switched it on. He looked out the window, watching for Sam while the cell searched for a signal.

_Beep_.

Dean eyed the display.

_11 missed calls._

He hit clear.

_9 voice mail messages._

His thumb hovered over "dial."

He checked for Sam again.

Nine messages.

_Two at least from Sam_ , he thought resignedly.

One from Bobby.

The rest...

Unconsciously he chewed briefly on his thumbnail. Peered out at the gas station. Hesitated.

And pressed the button.

"Hey, sweetheart. It's Jo."

The first message played in his ear, and Dean swallowed.

"I... I talked to Sam last night and he told me about your dad, and I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am." A pause. "That sounds so inadequate..." She trailed away, and he could hear the tightness in her voice, knew she was trying not to cry. For him. For Sam. "We just... we love you so much. And... we're here. You know that, right? Just... come, OK? Or call. Whatever you need." She stopped. "Well. OK. I guess that's it. Just. We're thinking about y'all. Praying for you. I'm rambling now, aren't I?" A heavy sigh. "OK, then. Bye, sweetie. We love you."

Dean rubbed a hand over the top of his head, saved the message and, keeping an eye on the door to the service station, listened to the next one.

"Dean. That part came in. Bobby wanted me to let you know. Where are you?" Sam.

Erase.

"OK. It's been three hours. I thought you were out in the yard somewhere. Where are you?"

Erase.

"Your phone is off, isn't it? Turn it on and call me back." Definitely a bite in his little brother's voice.

Erase.

"You're a complete jackass. You know that, right? It's been almost 8 hours, Dean. Where the hell are you?" Anger and worry. Fear.

Dean had walked back into Bobby's after almost 12 hours gone. Nowhere in particular. Just not there. He'd walked until his legs throbbed and his feet blistered. Turned around and limped back. Found his brother waiting for him in the kitchen, sitting at the table, seething.

Sam had exploded.

Dean had taken a seat across from his brother, feeling the tremble in his thighs and his knees, sat silent as Sam bawled him out, knowing that Sam's rage was a cover-up for something deeper, something that Dean was not willing to look at. Not yet.

In the end, after Sam had yelled himself hoarse, Dean stood.

"Sorry," he'd said, expressionless. And had walked out of the room.

Dean could still see the look on Sam's face—shock and uncertainty and the shadow of a fear that never seemed to leave his brother these days. Dean had thought maybe he should care that he was scaring the shit out of his brother. But at the time he hadn't been able to work up the energy to do so.

Dean erased the message. Waited for the next one to start.

"Hey, Dean, it's Luke."

Dean blinked in surprise.

"Look, I know you're probably not interested in company right now, but just in case you boys are looking for something to do, Jake and I are, uh, starting a new project with the barn. Michael and Tommy have both decided that they want horses, too, and since we let Jake have one, we're kinda stuck. Anyway, we're adding on."

Dean felt his heart catch.

"So, if y'all come, be prepared to work hard and we'll do what we can to keep Jo from feeding you two 'til you're 800 pounds." Luke cleared his throat, hesitation creeping in to his voice. "And. I'm sorry about your dad, Dean. I guess maybe I should've said that first, huh? I... Josie told me and... well, she's worried about you two. Call her if you can, would you? Or send her an email? Just something to let her know you're OK. As OK as you can be right now, I guess."

There was a brief silence. "That's it. Talk to you soon, I hope."

Dean swallowed. He knew that Sam had been talking to Jo fairly regularly since he'd interrupted the phone call between the two of them on Bobby's back porch. Knew it from the occasional, "Jo says, 'hi,'" from the lightness that settled over Sam after a conversation, from the cessation of pointed questions and pleas to talk.

The worry was him – not Sam. Not Sam, who wore his heart on his sleeve and in his eyes. Not Sam, who cried and talked and _dealt_.

_Crap._

Save.

"Goddamnit, Dean. God _damn_ it! I _told_ you to turn your goddamn phone on and leave it on!" Dean winced at the sound of a crash as the connection was broken. The thing about cell phones was there was no way to slam one satisfactorily when you were trying to make a point. Maybe Bobby had thrown it against a wall.

Erase.

Next.

A heavy sigh. "You're still not keeping it on, are you? Well, if you check... Bobby found someone with a trunk door for the Impala. We need to go pick it up."

This was where the second talking-to had happened. Bobby pissed and uncharacteristically sharp, listing all the reasons Dean should keep his phone on; Sam resigned, not yelling, but determined, anxious eyes and a careful voice. Like Dean was glass, like he might shatter if spoken to harshly.

Dean had felt the guilt of his brother's concern, listened and nodded, made a show of turning his phone on. Felt Sam's gaze follow him as he left the room, a heavy pressure point right between his shoulder blades.

Turned the phone off again when he got to his room.

Erase.

"Hey, dude." Dean's eyebrows went up. Michael.

"So. Mom told us about your dad, and we're really sorry. We just wanted to call and see how you're doing. Sam says you're fine. But, we thought we'd check. You know. Just in case. OK. Here's Jake."

"Hey, man. Me and Luke are still working on the framing for the barn, so you better hurry, if you're gonna come. And you gotta come, cuz, dude, Luke's making me listen to Hank Williams 24/7. I need some serious back-up. Or at least someone who'll distract him while I hide his CDs." There was an awkward silence. "Come home, OK?" Another silence. "Here's Tommy."

"Hi, Dean! When are you coming home? Aunt Jo washed your sheets. Again. Because she washed them after y'all left the last time. And I tried to tell her that, but she said they were probably stale or musty or something by now, so y'all should have fresh sheets. So, there's that. And then Jake and Luke are working really, really slow until you get here – Hey, ow! Stop Jake! – I... I mean, they have a lot to do and it will be better if you come help them so me and Michael can get our horses. Did Luke tell you? I'm getting a horse! Amanda's mare had a colt it wasn't supposed to or something and so her daddy said that we could get him cheap and he's really cool looking cuz he's got this white blaze..." There was the muffled sound of words in the background and then an outraged yelp.

"So. Anyway." Michael's dry voice came on again. Dean could hear Tommy's high-pitched protests. "Tommy's dying to see you. Obviously."

Michael had started to laugh and the other boy's slightly breathless delivery told Dean that he was probably fighting off his younger brother.

"We just wanted to say, 'hi,' so... Ouch! Damnit, Tommy!" Scuffles. "I can cuss if I want to, brat. STOP! Fine! Like I care! Tattle-tale," he muttered angrily. Michael had descended to his younger brother's level in a rush. An exasperated huff. "Ooops. Sorry." Remembering that there was "someone" on the other end of the phone.

"OK, that's it. Hope you're OK. We, uh, miss y'all. Come home. Bye."

The door across from him creaked open, and Dean brought the phone down quickly, snapping it shut. The car rocked as Sam lowered himself into the seat.

"'ja fall in?" Dean asked.

"Shut up," Sam growled.

"Seriously, dude. What took so long?"

Sam looked at him sullenly. "Do you really want to know?"

Dean snorted, tucking the phone into his pocket before he reached for the ignition.

"You OK?"

Sam shrugged, staring morosely out the passenger-side window. "Lunch doesn't seem to have agreed with me."

Dean grimaced in sympathy. And disgust.

"You make a mess in my car, and I'll kill you."

Sam's baleful glare and an offended silence were all the answer he got.

* * *

They stopped early because whatever Sam had eaten _really_ had not agreed with him, and by the time Dean found a motel, Sam had thrown the car door open twice to vomit. Dean got them checked in and his brother settled in the bed closest to the bathroom before he'd ventured out to a drugstore to see what the pharmacist would suggest. Clear fluids and time to see if it passed (heh) was all the advice the man could give for food poisoning. He'd warned Dean to keep an eye out for dehydration and suggested a doctor if Sam wasn't better in 48 hours.

Great.

Dean bought Gatorade (7-Up too sugary for this particular ailment) and crackers, a thermometer and a couple of books he thought his brother might enjoy before he headed back to their room.

Sam was crouched miserably by the toilet when Dean returned. Dean took his temperature – 101 – and mixed some water with the Gatorade to dilute it.

Sam submitted lethargically to all Dean's instructions, leaning back and obediently opening his mouth for the thermometer, swallowing the Gatorade mixture in the requisite small sips.

Dean had forgotten how compliant sick Sam could be.

Checking to make sure Sam felt like he could leave the bathroom safely, Dean guided his brother to the bed.

"Lie down, Sammy."

Sam slid under the covers.

"I put the trashcan here by the bed, OK? It's here if you need it. There's something for you to drink here on the table. Drink when you think about it – we don't want you to get dehydrated."

"Where're you goin'?" Sam mumbled.

"Nowhere. Outside maybe, so I can read."

"'K," Sam agreed.

"Did you hear me about drinking?"

"Yeah," Sam muttered.

"Good." Dean nodded his head, looking down at his brother. "I'll be right outside."

Sam grunted and rolled over.

Dean dragged one of the chairs out with him, leaving the door slightly ajar so he could listen for Sam.

He leaned back, propping his feet up on the railing that ran along the edge of the porch at the front of the motel. He hesitated briefly before digging the phone out of his pocket and dialing the number.

"Hello?"

Dean cleared his throat.

"Hey, Jo. It's, uh..."

"Dean." Surprise and warmth. "Hey, sweetie."

"Hey." Dean cleared his throat again. "Uh, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing fine." She paused. "How about you?"

"OK, I guess." He bit his lip. "Thanks for calling to, you know, check in. I, uh, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to call you back. I just..."

"Dean."

He stopped.

"Sweetheart, it's OK. I've just been worried."

She hesitated for a moment and then continued.

"Sam's been my spy," she confessed, "so I've been keeping an eye on you from afar, but it's not the same as hearing your voice."

Dean snorted.

"He's such a narc."

"Little brothers," she sympathized.

"He's worried about you," she added, justifying Sam's chattiness.

He sighed.

"I know."

"Is there anything to it?" she asked gently.

Dean was quiet.

"What has he told you?" he asked.

She paused before she answered.

"Just that he's worried about you." There was an odd silence. "About losing you."

Dean felt himself go cold.

_Reckless. Erratic._

_Scary._

The words haunted him.

_Sam couldn't have,_ Dean thought, numbly. _Sam wouldn't have told Jo that. Told Jo that Dean was dangerous, that somehow Dean had become a monster, one of the things they hunted. Sam wouldn't have said that to Jo..._

"Dean?"

Dean swallowed hard, struggling to find his voice.

"Honey, don't be mad at Sam. I don't think he meant to tell me that... He was just talking... about your last job, what had happened... and it came out. He tried to downplay it when he realized I'd caught it, but..."

Dean closed his eyes tight, feeling his stomach ache and burn.

_Damn Sam and his compulsion to talk about every freaking thing that went through his ginormous brain._

"I'm fine," he tried, but even as he said it, he felt the lie stick in his throat. And that was new. Wasn't he always able to half convince himself it was true when he said it to Sam?

Jo didn't say anything, and Dean bit down hard on his tongue to keep everything that was inside him from welling up and pouring out, afraid he would drown her with all the fear and rage and helplessness that were choking the life out of him.

"Are you?" she finally whispered.

Because she recognized the falsehood, could see—even without seeing—the fissures that were spreading out over the thin, fragile veneer of control he covered himself with. And he knew that Sam knew could see them as well and was paralyzed by them.

"Dean..."

He cleared his throat.

"Thanks for what you've been doing for Sam." Spoke in a rush.

_Talk about something else. Not me._

_Not me. Not me. Notmenotmenotme._

"I know he's been talking to you a lot. And it helps him to have that. I haven't been..." He stopped himself. _Not me._ Cleared his throat again.

"You know Sam. He can't think without talking. I swear I got a little sister instead of the brother I asked for..." He trailed off, even his attempt to lighten things by mocking failing him.

Silence filled the air between them, and it was all Dean could do not to try to fill it with chatter. About anything.

"Yes," Jo finally said softly. "Talking about what he's going through is how Sam copes, isn't it?"

There was another long stretch of awkwardness.

"You know that I'm happy to be an ear for Sam, Dean, but." She didn't finish.

"What?"

Dean asked even though he knew he didn't want to hear what she was going to say.

She seemed to be considering.

"I'm not the one he really needs to talk this through with. I'm not the one who can understand what he's feeling in terms of losing your father."

Dean felt the sting of tears behind his eyes – grief and guilt.

"Jo..." Pleading. Surprising him.

"Honey, I can't even imagine what this is like for you boys, and I know how hard it is for you to talk about things, to verbalize what you're feeling. Especially as you're feeling it. But being a listening ear doesn't necessarily mean you have to say anything yourself."

_No, you can't imagine. Because you don't know. You don't know that Dad's death is my fault. That it isn't just listening. That it's accepting responsibility. It's knowing that I'm the cause of Sam's pain._

She went on, "Just let him get it off his chest. He..."

"Yeah," he said. "I get it." It came out sharper than he intended, but he didn't apologize.

_Please, just..._

Jo didn't push back at him. "OK," she said.

"Well."

Dean suddenly needed to be off the phone.

"Well," she answered.

"I'll, uh, let you go."

"Dean..."

"Tell Luke and the boys I said hey and thanks." He wasn't going to let her suck him back in.

She didn't say anything for a moment.

But then he heard her sigh.

"Alright, sweetie, I will."

Dean cleared his throat.

"Give Sam my love, OK?" she said. "And please come home soon. Just. We love y'all, and the boys miss you and..."

"I will, I'll tell him."

Dean hated that he could hear the tremor in his voice, even as he pretended that he hadn't heard the rest.

"Well, then."

Jo sounded unsure, but she also clearly knew that she wouldn't get any farther with him.

"Keep in touch, OK, Dean, please? Don't leave me hanging out here." She laughed as she said it; Dean could hear the tears underneath.

"I won't," Dean said roughly. "I'll call."

"Good," she said. "Bye, sweetheart. I love you."

Dean closed his eyes. Paused.

"Me, too," he whispered. "Bye."

Dean closed his phone, took deep breaths, struggling to regain some sort of hold on the emotions that were suddenly too much to keep in their place, locked down, controllable.

_Damn, damn, damn._

Damn Sam for ratting him out.

And damn Jo for her soft concern and the safe haven she offered.

Dean could keep things under control if he didn't have people constantly picking at him, asking him he was OK, expecting him to talk about how he was feeling. If they'd just shut the hell up and leave him alone he could...

He dropped his feet to the ground and bending over, pressed his palms into his eyes. Winced as the hard case of the cell phone dug into his eyebrow. But he didn't shift his hold.

Finally, Dean raised his head and turned his face toward the door on his left. There was no sound from the room, and Dean hoped that Sam had fallen asleep.

Hoped it because if his little brother wasn't unconscious, Dean would be sorely tempted to jerk his ass out of bed and beat the crap out of him. He knew it wouldn't change who Sam was or make him stop running his mouth to Jo or whoever. But it would make Dean feel better. For a little while.

Dean stood, scrubbing agitated hands over his face. He needed to get out, to...

"Dean?"

Sam's voice drifted through the open door.

"Yeah?" Dean answered, didn't move.

"What are you doing?"

Dean scowled toward the darkened room.

_Trying to keep myself from smothering you in your sleep, you freakin' chick._

"Nothin'."

Sam was quiet for a minute.

"Will you turn the TV on?"

Dean sighed.

"Can't sleep?" he asked as he entered.

"Huh-uh," Sam mumbled, shifting restlessly.

Dean reached under the shade of the lamp between the beds and flicked on the light.

Sam made an unhappy noise in his throat, closing his eyes.

"Dude, I can't find the remote if I can't see," Dean snapped.

There was a beat of wary silence.

"Sorry," Sam said, chastened.

Dean stomped around the room until he found the remote on the top of the television.

"What do you want?" he asked, pressing the "on" button.

"Don't care."

"Fine."

Dean left it on the channel it had already been set to, one of those court shows.

"Not that," Sam said when Dean went to put the remote down.

Dean flipped to the next channel and stopped again.

"Not that."

"Sam, I swear to God..."

"What?" Sam asked weakly, blinking uncertainly at his brother.

"You just said you didn't care," Dean practically shouted, surprising himself with the loudness of his voice.

"I..."

"Fine," Dean bit out. "Tell me when we get to something you'll watch, princess."

Dean clicked determinedly through the channels, barely able himself to tell what was on each one as he sped through them.

"Dean..."

Sam's voice was tight, and when Dean looked over at his brother, Sam's eyes were squeezed shut.

"Oh, crap," Dean said as he lurched for the trashcan, thrusting it at Sam as his brother sat up abruptly, face a pale green.

As Sam wretched, Dean kept a steadying hand on Sam's shoulder, not saying anything. When he finished, Sam fell back, spent, and Dean took the trashcan. He picked up the Gatorade bottle and handed it silently to Sam who took a mouthful, swishing it gingerly around in his mouth before he spat it into the can Dean held for him. Dean set the trashcan down on the floor at the far end of the bed.

He watched Sam take several small sips from the bottle, before he tried to set it back on the bedside table himself. Dean steadied Sam's shaking hand, taking the bottle and putting it in its place.

"Sorry," Sam whispered.

"No big deal," Dean said.

Sam slid down in the bed.

"Why are you mad?" he asked hesitantly.

Dean almost denied it. Sam was sick and this wasn't the time...

_I'm not mad._

"I just talked to Jo," he said.

"Oh."

Sam said it without understanding.

And then, "Oh."

Comprehension dawning.

"Dean..."

"Look. You're sick. And I don't want to get into it with you right now..."

Dean paused, but the words spilled out.

"Seriously, though, Sammy, what the hell?" Anger and confusion.

"I'm sorry. I didn't..."

"Did you tell her I was erratic? That you think I'm dangerous?" There was no masking the pain or the fear of that betrayal.

"No, man, no." Sam was struggling upright. "Dean, I didn't... I wouldn't..."

Dean stood abruptly, taking a step away from the bed.

"Well, good." The relief was making it difficult to breathe. "Because I'm not."

"Dean..."

"It's fine, Sam."

"It's not, Dean. Please..." Sam's voice cracked and Dean flinched. He'd forgotten.

A sick Sam, in addition to being an unnaturally obedient Sam, was also a disturbingly defenseless Sam, and Dean was suddenly afraid that if he didn't smooth things over, Sam would break down. And that was something neither of them wanted.

"Sammy," Dean made his voice calm. Strong. _Trust me._

"We'll talk about it, OK? I promise you we will."

He moved to Sam, put his hand back on his brother's shoulder.

"But you feel like crap. And you're not going to be at your best in defending your girly, verbally-vomiting tendencies if we get into this right now."

Sam snorted tiredly and after a brief hesitation, eased down somewhat in the bed again.

"Yeah," he acknowledged.

Dean adjusted the sheets and comforter, straightening them after Sam was horizontal.

Turning from the bed, Dean picked up the trashcan with a grimace and carried into the bathroom, emptying its contents into the toilet and rinsing it out before taking it back to Sam.

"This is ready to go again if you need it. And..." Dean picked up the remote and changed the channels until he landed on _While You Were Sleeping_. He smirked down at his brother before he set the remote on the table by the Gatorade. "Here's a movie I know you'll love."

With a careful roll of his eyes, Sam shrugged his acceptance of Dean's choice and curled on his side so he could see the TV.

"Whatever, Dean. You know you've had a thing for Peter Boyle ever since we saw _Young Frankenstein_."

Dean laughed and flopped onto the other bed.

"Yeah, but, dude, here it's Gallagher. The Eyebrows. They're mesmerizing."

They watched in silence for awhile.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean's eyes strayed momentarily from the screen.

"I'm sorry."

Dean sighed.

"I know."

Sam nodded and returned his attention to the movie.

Dean did the same, but he was conscious of his brother in the bed next to him, hearing every unsteady breath and gulping swallow.

There was another stumbling trip to the bathroom before Sam slid into sleep, and Dean turned off the television. He stayed in the bed, the dark and the silence like a blanket around him.

He replayed the voicemails in his mind, his conversation with Jo weaving in and out of his sub-conscious as he drifted. Maybe it would be good for Sam if they did go for a little while. Let the kid regain his strength. And Luke and Jake needed help with the barn...

Dean closed his eyes, sleep dragging him under as the emptiness that had plagued him began to ease, filling the hollow with the sound of Sam's low, steady snore and the echoes of voices calling him home.


	3. Chapter 3

When the phone rang, Jo checked the caller ID before she picked up.

"Hey, sugar," she said, tucking the phone between her chin and her shoulder. She sat back down at the kitchen table, folding the paper and setting it to the side. "What's up?"

"Nuthin'" said Dean. "Just sittin' in the car waiting for Sam. What's up with you?"

Jo smiled and began her run-down of the family activities since the last time they'd talked. This was the pattern they'd established over the last few weeks—one or the other called, asked "what's up?" and then Jo rambled on for 10 or 15 minutes about the latest goings-on at her house, before Dean offered up bits and pieces of what was happening with him and Sam.

It had happened in stages. The first had been Dean returning her phone call after only a day had passed; next he'd picked up when she'd called; finally, finally, he'd called her unprompted – "just checking in."

If she never felt like she got all that she wanted out of him, Jo had known that Dean was giving her what he could, talking softly and hesitantly about being tired, about wanting to quit. She'd felt her heart ache at the exhaustion in his tone and recognized that there was something deeply wrong in Dean's world.

"Honey, I think your dad would understand if you wanted to slow down for a little while."

She'd offered it hesitantly during their second conversation in the face of the startling declaration that Dean didn't think he wanted to hunt anymore. This was uncharted territory, and she'd been wary of jumping too eagerly onto that bandwagon. It would be fine with her – _more_ than fine with her – if they quit, but she'd thought she should offer a less drastic solution first.

"I don't care whether Dad would understand or not."

Dean had said it with a bite that had taken Jo completely by surprise.

"Sorry. Never mind."

He'd withdrawn so quickly it had made her head spin.

"Sweetheart…" she'd tried, even though she had no idea what was she could say.

She could hear him swallow on the other end of the line. "It's nothing. It's just… Dad's not here is he?" His voice had been tight with what had sounded like rising anger.

_What are the stages of grief again? s_ he'd thought desperately.

"No, he's not," she'd agreed cautiously.

"I mean, he tells me… "

Dean had stopped, voice sounding like it had broken into pieces, and Jo had been sure that his voice was only a reflection of what was happening to his heart.

"He said… I can't…"

Dean had stopped again.

"Dean, what did he say?"

For the life of her, Jo had not been able to think what John could have said to Dean that would have caused this type of reaction.

He'd hesitated long enough that she thought for a minute that he was going to tell her.

"I can't." It had been a whisper, shaking and taut. "I promised. I promised I wouldn't tell."

He'd sounded like a child, desperate, holding onto a vow he'd known he shouldn't keep, knowing that there might be danger in staying quiet, but not yet able to break the confidence.

There'd been no more she'd been able to pry out of him, and after a couple more tentative attempts to get him to tell her what John had made him promise, she'd dropped it. She was ever aware of the danger that he might retreat out of her reach if she pushed him too hard, so she'd let him distract her with Sam, and they'd hung up not long after.

Today, Jo thought Dean sounded steadier. He actually laughed at something she'd said, which was an improvement. Maybe not a laugh exactly, but she'd heard the brief huff of air he'd expelled when she told him about Jake's disastrous first date with the girl he'd been mooning over for the last few weeks.

There was the sound of a car door being opened, and a deep voice asking a question.

Dean said, warily she thought, "Jo."

The tone of Sam's reply carried clearly across the airwaves, and if she didn't get the exact words, the emotion was clear. Pissed. Off.

"No. I didn't. Sam…"

Jo was fairly certain she felt the vibration from the door being slammed on the other end of the call.

She heard Dean sigh.

"Sam says 'hi.'"

She bit her lip.

"Tell him I said, 'hey.'" In her head, Jo could see Dean nod.

"I told Sam what Dad said."

He blurted it out, and Jo raised her eyebrows.

"He's not happy, I take it," she said.

Dean snorted softly.

"That's an understatement," he agreed, weariness seeping into every word.

Jo considered her options in pursuing this.

"Does he have a reason to be mad?" she asked gently.

Dean was quiet for awhile.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I lied to him. And I kept a secret from him."

Jo could hear the terrible strain in his voice.

"But I didn't know what to do. I promised Dad. And I couldn't… I couldn't _say_ it." Dean's voice sank to a whisper.

_Couldn't say what?_

"Dean, what…," she started.

"Jo, I can't. I told Sam, and I can't say it again. I can't …"

"OK, sweetheart. OK," she soothed. "When you're ready.

* * *

When the phone rang, Luke didn't check the display, just pressed the button to connect.

"Yeah?" He held his cell between his chin and his shoulder, keeping one hand on the wheel while he cranked down the window to his left. "Just a sec," he said to whoever it was.

"Hey, Lynn. Give me a cheeseburger, onion rings, and a chocolate shake." He smiled at the girl at the drive-thru window.

"Sure thing, sheriff," she said with a smile of her own, reaching for the ten dollar bill he was handing her. "Be right up," she added as she handed him his change.

Luke threw the bills at the seat next to him and returned his attention to the phone.

"Sorry 'bout that. What's up?"

"It's Dean, Luke. Have you talked to Sam recently?"

The urgency in Dean's voice hit Luke in the pit of his belly.

"No, I haven't," he said quickly. "What's wrong?"

"He's gone." Dean was clipped, anxiety making him short.

"'Gone'? What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"I woke up this morning, and he wasn't here."

"Was his stuff gone, too?"

"Yeah. He took everything."

Luke closed his eyes and felt his jaw clench in frustration. _Damn Sam_. Jo had told Luke what Dean had said the last time they'd talked – that Dean had told Sam something that his brother hadn't liked, had been angered and hurt by.

"I guess he didn't leave a note or anything."

Dean's bark of laughter was bitter.

"Not so much."

"You want to tell me what happened?" Luke asked.

"Not really," Dean said.

_Fair enough._

"You think he's coming back?"

Luke could hear the swallow from the other end of the call.

"I don't know." Dean paused. "I asked him to give me some time. To let me come up with a plan, but…"

But Sam had been too angry to wait, too blinded by rage and fear to recognize – in that moment – the damage that this secret had been doing to his brother. Luke knew that Sam had been worried about Dean, had been frantic (in his ignorance) for Dean's emotional health. But in the face of whatever revelation Dean had made, Sam had only been able to see his own betrayal.

"Sheriff, here's your order."

Luke jumped, startled by the perky female voice at his window.

"Hold on a sec, Dean," he said.

Luke reached for the bag, set it on the seat next to him.

"Thanks, sugar," he said.

"No problem – have a great day!"

Luke smiled tightly at her and pulled out of line, aiming for a nearby parking spot. He put the truck in park.

"OK," he said, indicating that he was back.

"Look, Luke. I know there's nothing you can do, but if you hear from him… if he calls…. or shows up… Will you let me know?"

Luke nodded. "You know we will."

Dean hesitated again. "Even if he asks you not to? I…"

"Dean. We'll call. He doesn't get to do this to you."

Luke heard a breath being drawn and then a shuddering release of air.

"Thank you." Unsteady. Grateful.

"Call us."

"I will."

Luke ended the call and sat for a minute. Absently he reached for his lunch, pulling out an onion ring and his shake. He took a long pull from the straw, munched on the fried O. Contemplated his phone.

Finally, he set his cup down, balancing it on the dashboard in front of him, and scrolled through his numbers. He hit send.

Voicemail.

"Sam. It's Luke. Call you brother."

He paused—that had been abrupt.

"Look. I know you're pissed. I don't know about what exactly, but I know that it's a big deal. I don't doubt that you've got plenty of reason for being angry at Dean, but don't punish him this way, son. By disappearing. Whatever it is between you, whatever he did, it's hurting him, too, Sam. It's killing him. And leaving him alone… He doesn't deserve that, kiddo. And you know it."

Luke sat for a little while longer before he added. "Or call us and let us know you're safe. We'll tell Dean if you feel like you can't talk to him. OK, Sam? Just. Don't leave us all hanging."

* * *

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, face aching, heart numb.

"I'm gonna grab us some food."

Sam nodded.

"Burger OK?"

Sam nodded again.

The snick of the door closing behind his brother startled Sam out of his reverie, and he looked up.

Where had Dean gone?

It took his mind a couple of beats to process the question.

Food. Burgers.

_Right._

Sam lay back, closing his eyes. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingering the delicate diamond ring he had tucked there.

_Ava. I'm so sorry._

Even as he thought it, Sam knew it wasn't his fault. Knew it was the demon.

But still. The ache was there. And the guilt. Making it hard to think, to breathe.

Sam sighed.

Without really thinking about it, Sam dug his hand into his other pocket, pulling out his phone. He opened his eyes, squinting at the keypad to find the correct speed-dial number and pushed down before he put it up to his ear. He draped his other arm over his forehead.

"Sam?"

Jo's worried voice rang in his ear, and Sam smiled slightly at the concern he knew it covered. He drew in a breath to respond, but she was rushing on.

"Where are you? Are you OK? Dean…"

"Jo, I'm fine." He raised his voice as much as his exhaustion would let him. "I'm OK. I…"

"Have you talked to Dean? Because he's been worried _sick_ , Sam, and I…"

"I have." He interrupted her again, trying to stave off what seemed to be incipient hysteria on Jo's part. "I'm with him. He…"

But she didn't let him go on.

"What in the world is _wrong_ with you, Sam?" Jo's voice had risen, shaking with tears and an unfamiliar fury.

Sam blinked, speechless.

"Do you know what you did to him, Sam? Do you know?"

Sam swallowed, an awful realization creeping in.

"After everything you boys have been through lately with your father, I would _never_ have thought you could be so deliberately cruel to Dean this way, Sam. _Never_."

"Jo…"

"For you to sneak out in the middle of the night. Without a _word_ , Sam. To _leave_ him like that. I just…"

Jo's words were suddenly lost and another, deeper voice came on.

"Sam?" Luke.

Sam sat up, struggling to shift gears, thinking that if Jo had exploded, Luke was likely to be completely ballistic.

"Yeah," he answered cautiously.

"Are you OK?"

Maybe if he said "no" he could avoid the yelling.

"Yeah."

"How about Dean? Neither of you are hurt?"

"No, we're OK."

They were both bruised, but that hardly counted. He didn't say anything more, just waited.

"Good." Luke said it again. "Good." There was a brief silence. "Can you hold on just a minute?"

"Yeah."

Sam could hear muffled voices, knew that Luke had his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone while he talked to Jo.

"Sam?"

Jo again. Sam felt his stomach clench.

"Yeah?" Wary, uncertain.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have … gone off on you like that. I just… We were so worried, and Dean …" Sam heard her take a shaky breath. "We were worried about both of you. And I…" She paused. "I'm sorry."

Sam lay back down. Covered his face again with his forearm. This was so hard.

"'s OK," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to worry you."

There was an awkward silence that had Sam wishing he could just hang up.

"Are you really OK, sweetheart?"

Jo's voice was hesitant now, stridency and anger gone, only concern left.

Sam squeezed his eyes tightly closed, felt the wetness slide down the sides of his face into his ears.

"No," he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam reached over and put a steadying hand on the steering wheel.

"Dean, we gotta stop."

Dean startled, blinking at the road and correcting his course.

"What?"

"I'm keeping an eye out for the next exit," Sam said quietly.

Dean looked over at his brother, felt the fire in his shoulder throb, knew that if he didn't stop, he'd drive them off the road.

"Yeah," he agreed. "OK."

They found a surprisingly clean looking motel within the next 10 miles, and after Sam checked them in, Dean let his brother grab the bags, while he made his way slowly toward the door. Sitting had stiffened him, and he leaned heavily against the jamb, waiting for Sam with the key. When Sam got the door open, Dean headed for the closest bed, sinking down on it as his brother trailed behind, dropping their duffels on the table by the window.

Dean winced as he tried to shrug off his jacket and didn't protest when Sam materialized next to him, tugging gently at the sleeves, easing the leather off his brother's arm.

"Let me look at your shoulder."

Dean nodded sluggishly, rolling it uneasily. He swallowed a gasp at the pull on the wound. Sam had already grabbed their first-aid kit, setting it on the bed next to Dean.

"Have you taken anything for the pain?"

Dean shook his head.

"I've got a bottle of something. It's in my pocket."

Sam reached for the coat.

"Did you take one?" he asked, eyeing the label on the bottle and shaking it experimentally.

"Didn't want to be groggy, you know, when I found..."

Sam nodded, eyes not meeting his brother's.

"Right," he whispered.

"Sam..."

"Take one now, OK, before I clean it," Sam interrupted him. He twisted the cap off, spilling a couple of capsules into his palm. He put one to the side, extending the other to Dean.

Dean popped it in his mouth, dry-swallowing the pill.

Together, they managed to get Dean's shirts off with as little additional trauma to the shoulder as they could.

Sam blanched at the sight of the raw hole gaping and angry, flesh around it torn, ragged. He swallowed hard.

"OK," he said shakily.

"Sammy..." Dean tried to start again.

"I'll get some water."

Sam rose and went into the bathroom. When he returned, he was steady, if pale. Dean watched him carefully.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded and was thankful for the fuzziness he could feel starting to steal into his consciousness.

"As I'll ever be," he answered.

The combination of the medication and the pain knocked Dean out not long after Sam started the process of cleaning and stitching the injury. When he woke, Dean found himself stretched out on the bed, shoes and jeans pulled off, scratchy blanket pulled up to his chest. He turned his head toward the other bed.

Sam was on his side, facing his brother, eyes closed. Dean braced himself and sat up, one hand coming up to cover the bandage over his shoulder. Sam's eyes came open.

"Where are you going?" he asked, sitting up abruptly.

"The can," Dean said gruffly.

Sam nodded, one hand extended.

"Need any help?" he offered.

Dean just looked at him, and Sam subsided, still keeping a concerned eye on his brother as Dean hobbled into the bathroom.

When he came out, Dean made his way slowly back to the bed.

"How long was I out?" Dean asked, voice husky.

"Couple of hours." Sam stood, taking Dean's elbow, gently.

Dean just kept himself from pulling the arm out of his brother's grasp, easing down onto the mattress. He leaned back on the pillows.

"A doctor should look at it, though."

Dean grunted.

"I'll be fine."

Sam was silent.

Dean closed his eyes, shutting out the weight of his brother's gaze.

"Where are we headed next?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean kept his eyes closed, raised his right shoulder in a carefully careless shrug.

"I... Could we... go to Jo and Luke's?" Sam's voice was drained, broken and almost wandering. "If... If there's nowhere else...?"

Sam trailed away, and Dean turned his head to look at his brother. Sam was sitting on his own bed, body oddly slack, elbows on his knees, hands dangling uselessly. His eyes, when he raised them to his brother, were dark, hollowed out.

"Yeah," Dean said, gently "We can."

* * *

Jo's first surprise had been the rumble of the Winchesters' Impala growing clearer in the crisp, gray dawn. She was standing on the porch, enjoying the morning with her first cup of coffee when she saw the sleek black muscle car easing around the side of the motel.

The second surprise had been Sam instead of Dean climbing out of the driver's side. Jo hurried down the stairs toward the car.

"Well, hey!"

Thrilled to see them, she smiled at Sam across the roof of the car.

"Hey," he returned with a tired smile. The line of his jaw was marred by a mottled bruise, and Jo wasn't sure if the dark circles under his eyes were bruises or weariness.

Jo frowned in concern as she reached for the door next to her, glancing at Dean as he stood. She bit back a gasp at the redness and swelling of his nose, the angry looking marks on his cheekbone.

"Hey," Dean said as she took a step back out of his way, giving his room to exit the car fully. "Can we crash with you guys for awhile?" He smiled crookedly at her, his eyes as somber as Sam's.

"Of course, you can. Of course." She put out a gentle hand to touch his face. "Are y'all alright?" Her eyes cut to Sam.

"Yeah, we're fine," Dean said even as Sam ducked his head, moving toward the trunk of the car.

Confused and increasingly worried, Jo glanced again at Dean. He'd closed the door to the Impala and was leaning back against the car, right hand cradling his left shoulder, face gray with exhaustion and pain.

"What happened?" she asked sharply. "You're hurt."

"I'm OK," he started.

"He's been shot." This from Sam, quiet, but clear.

"Shot?! What? How?"

From the half-hearted smirk on Dean's face, Jo suspected that she was about to get a smart-ass response as to _how_ he'd gotten shot— _well, there's this thing called a gun_ —but the expression on her own face seemed to stop him.

He glanced at Sam, who watched, eyes intently on his brother.

"I'm OK."

Dean looked at Jo and then back at Sam with a look that was both weary and oddly patient.

Sam dropped his eyes with a shrug, attention back on the duffels he was pulling out of the trunk.

Jo took Dean by the right elbow and began to guide him toward the house.

"I'll call Rob, he can..."

"Jo, it's fine." He tried to ease his arm out of her grip. She held on tighter. _Huh-uh, buddy._

"What do you mean, 'it's fine'?" she demanded. "Have you had a doctor look at it?"

She heard a chuff of air from behind her.

Dean sighed.

"No, but..."

"No," she muttered, tugging him up the stairs. "Of course, you haven't." She got him onto the porch and turned the knob on the door. Sam's heavy tread on the wooden stairs told her he was following them into the house.

"A friend looked at it – she got the bullet out and patched me up," Dean said.

He seemed to have given up on the idea of escaping and trailed along after.

"It got messed up after that," Sam said. Quietly again. Not looking at either of them as he dropped their gear in the corner of the room.

She could feel the tension in the air between them, in the tightening of the muscles in Dean's forearm where she was holding it while she steered him toward one of the beds.

"You took care of it," Dean said softly, sitting.

Sam was silent for a moment.

"I'd feel better if Dr. Jones looked at it," he finally said. _Still_ not looking at his brother.

Not knowing why, Jo held her breath watching Dean watch Sam. She knew he was waiting for his brother to look at him. But Sam didn't turn.

Dean looked away, nodded in resignation.

"Yeah. OK."

"Thanks," said Sam just before he walked out of the room.

* * *

Sam was seated at the kitchen table when she walked into the room. Jo had taken some time getting Dean settled. He'd declined the offer of breakfast, closing his eyes as he'd mumbled that he was tired, rolling onto his side away from her.

Jo had taken the hint and left.

"You want some breakfast, sweetheart?" she asked Sam as she came in.

She stopped next to him and ran a questioning hand over his hair. She was close enough to register the brush of his shoulder against her side, but wasn't prepared for the weight of his body as Sam leaned heavily into her. Jo felt her heart stutter at the unexpected movement.

"Baby?" she whispered. Sam shook his head mutely, turning his face to press into her side.

Stunned, Jo was quiet, keeping up the steady soothing motion of her hand through his hair.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there before Sam pulled away.

"Scrambled eggs?" he asked, voice rough, bringing a hand up to wipe at his eyes before he put his head in his hands. Jo felt her heart ache in response to the pain that almost radiated off the slumped body sitting at her kitchen table.

"You bet," she said, one last skim of her hand over his head, moving toward the fridge.

She pulled out a carton of eggs and started cracking them into a bowl.

"Tell me what happened, Sam," she said.

He didn't respond for a moment.

"Did Dean tell you anything?" he asked.

She turned from the counter briefly and caught Sam's eyes.

"He said he was shot by a demon. That it was what beat him up."

Sam nodded absently, looking down to pick at something on his jeans.

"Yeah," he agreed softly.

He cleared his throat.

She waited.

"The demon..." He paused. "It was in me," he finally whispered, the grief raw in his voice.

Jo blinked.

"Oh, Sam..."

"SAM!"

Tommy's entrance into the kitchen ended the conversation as he threw himself into Sam's startled, but willing arms.

"Hey, buddy," Sam said, returning the hug with interest.

"Where's Dean?" Tommy asked excitedly, untangling himself from Sam.

"Hey, Sam!"

Tommy's shout had hurried the rest of the family into the kitchen, and there was a brief traffic jam at the door as Tommy tried to get out of the room on his way to find Dean while Jake and Michael and Luke were all trying to get in.

"Tommy, wait," Jo called helplessly. "Luke, catch him before..."

There was a squeak of protest from Tommy as he was collared – literally – by his uncle. Luke spun him around back into the kitchen.

"Hey," the youngest boy protested with disgruntled looks for both his aunt and uncle.

"Dean's asleep," Jo tried to explain, smiling her gratitude at Luke and touching Tommy's cheek.

"Are you making breakfast for Sam?"

This from Jake.

"Will you make me some, too?" He sidled up close to Jo, slipping an arm around her waist. "Please?" He batted his lashes at her.

She rolled her eyes.

"Who all wants eggs?"

"Me!" "I do!" "Yes, please." "Yea!"

Michael shoved a box of cereal back into the cabinet.

Three young male bodies plopped into chairs around the table.

"Huh-uh," Jo said, not turning from her task of breaking more eggs into the bowl. "If I'm making breakfast, y'all are setting the table."

There was some good-natured grumbling as the boys heaved themselves up again.

"Can we have bacon, too?" Luke waggled his eyebrows at her as he opened the fridge.

"Why not?"

Luke tossed the package on the counter. "I'll make it after I get coffee." He kissed her. "Good morning, by the way." Under the chaos of banging plates and excited chatter, he asked softly, "Is everything OK with them?"

Jo shook her head, biting her lip when she looked at him. Luke nodded, rubbing a hand up and down her back. "OK."

"Sam." Luke turned toward the table. "You want coffee, bud?"

"Yeah, thanks."

She felt her husband's fingers brush over her hip before he reached for the coffee pot.

Jo kept up the façade of lightness while the kids were at the table, smiling as the boys regaled Sam with tales of their lives since they'd last seen him and asked question after question about what he and Dean had been doing. But she'd kept a close eye on Sam. She could tell he was as exhausted as his brother, his open demeanor faltering occasionally when he thought no one was paying attention.

"Hey, what happened to your face?"

Jake pointed his fork at Sam.

"Sweetheart, please don't gesture with your silverware," Jo reproved him. Jake let the fork slide down in his fingers.

Sam's hand came up unconsciously to his jaw.

"We were goofing around, and Dean clipped me with his elbow," he grimaced.

The lie was easily said, but from the glance Luke sent her, Jo knew he didn't believe that any more than she did.

Michael pushed back his chair.

"We gotta go," he said, carrying his plate to the sink.

Jake and Tommy clattered up after him, rushing to match their oldest brother's long strides as he headed toward the door.

"Bye, mom! See you, Luke! Bye, Sam!" And they were gone.

A heavy stillness descended in the wake of the noise and motion that had just blown out the back door.

Luke put his fork down.

"You want to tell us what's going on, Sam?"

Sam set his own fork carefully on the table.

Jo noticed that Sam had eaten very little. Head bowed, he clasped his hands in his lap.

Jo and Luke exchanged looks.

"Sugar?" Jo put a hand on his arm.

Jo wasn't exactly sure how to raise the whole _So. You were possessed by a demon and beat up and shot your brother?_ conversation that they'd started not that long ago.

"Sam," she started hesitantly, "you said..."

He nodded, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Yeah," he whispered.

Luke was looking from one to the other.

"OK," she breathed.

Jo turned to Luke.

"Dean's been shot. And beaten." She paused. "He told me it was a demon, and Sam... Sam said that he was the one who was possessed when Dean got hurt."

Luke went completely still before he drew in a long, steadying breath.

"Is Dean OK?"

"Dean says he is, but I'm going to call Rob and ask him to come by, if he can."

Luke nodded.

"Sam?" It was said as a question, but Jo could hear the command in the tone.

Sam's head came up obediently.

"How about you? Are you OK?"

Sam stared at Luke and started to nod his head, but changed mid-motion to shaking it.

"I don't... I don't think so," he admitted softly.

Jo swallowed back tears at the lostness in his voice.

She ran her hand up and down Sam's arm. "You're exhausted, honey. Why don't you go get some sleep? You can... We can... talk about everything later."

"I could have killed him," Sam said brokenly, as if he hadn't heard her. "I almost did."

Jo's breath caught in her throat. "Sweetie..." she didn't know where to go from there.

"As I understand it, it wasn't you at all."

Sam blinked at Luke.

"Isn't that right, Sam?"

Luke raised an eyebrow at the younger man, an expression Jo recognized from some of his interactions with their own boys.

"I..."

"Sam, isn't that right? When someone's possessed, the demon's in control?"

"Dad..." Sam started.

"Your dad, what?"

"Dad broke through," he said desperately. "Dad fought it. He beat it. When it was hurting Dean. Dad..." Sam looked from Jo to Luke with haunted eyes.

"I don't understand," Luke said. "Dean was torn to hell. The doctors almost couldn't save him."

"Dad couldn't get free right away," Sam admitted. "But he did. He stopped it long enough for me to get loose, to get the Colt..."

"'Long enough'?" Luke asked, interrupting Sam again. "How long was that, Sam?"

Jo was biting her lip, forcing herself not to jump in, not to tell Luke to go easy with Sam. Luke was getting at something, asking questions to force Sam to the same conclusion he himself had come to. His relentlessness frustrated Jo, but she knew he had a point and she'd seen him do this with the boys enough times to let him do things his way.

"How long, Sam?" Luke asked again, gentle in spite of his insistence.

"A few s- seconds," Sam stuttered, taken aback by Luke's rapid-fire questioning. "Long enough to..."

"A few seconds, Sam?" Luke asked. "It took him awhile and it was only for a few seconds? While the thing inside him was ripping his oldest child to pieces in front of his eyes?"

Luke's own voice broke at the thought—of his own children, of Dean, of John Winchester.

"Luke," Jo gasped. "Stop!"

Luke startled at the anguish in his wife's voice, and he was suddenly aware of Sam, pale and frozen across from him at the table. He rubbed a shaking hand over his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "Sam, I just mean, your dad... Kiddo, if _your dad_ could only break free for seconds while the two of you were being hurt, while one of his babies was being tortured..."

Luke trailed off.

"I know how much you love your brother, Sam. I know that you would trade yourself for Dean in heartbeat. But as deep and as true as that love is, it's different from the love a father has for his children. From your dad's love for Dean. From his love for you. And if your dad couldn't stop this thing from hurting the two of you, from hurting Dean so horribly; if he couldn't free himself for longer than a few seconds... I just don't know how anybody could fight something like that with any hope of beating it."

Sam was staring at Luke, slow, dazzled blinks the only movement on his face.

After a couple of long minutes of silence, Luke said gently, "Think about it, OK, Sam?"

Sam nodded, eyes back on the table.

"Get some sleep, kiddo."

Sam nodded again, standing unsteadily.

"Sam," Jo said, rising with him. He turned to her, eyes shuttered.

"It's going to be OK."

She knew that he didn't believe her, didn't wonder that he didn't. But she couldn't keep from trying to reassure him, reaching out to give him a quick, hard hug. He accepted the embrace, and she felt the tremor across his back as he tightened his arms around her. His chin pressed into her shoulder a couple of times, nodding, pretending to agree.

"Thanks."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'm going to try to address John's death in the chapter. It's going to be an awkward blending of this universe with what happened on the show. Just don't look too closely, OK?_

Dean moved the hook and its nail to the left.

"Here?" He turned to look at Jo over his shoulder. She frowned thoughtfully.

"A little more." Her eyes moved over the wall, trying to measure in her head. "Luke? Honey, what do you think?"

Luke shifted his attention from the door he was trying to hang to the wall opposite him.

"A couple of inches higher."

Dean made the adjustment.

Jo nodded her head. "Good."

Dean pulled the hammer out of his pocket and drove the nail home.

They were hanging tack in the stable they'd finished building in the days Sam and Dean had been visiting. Sam had done the majority of the physical work, Dean "overseeing" or helping in the diner as his shoulder healed. This evening Sam had gone into town with the boys while Dean had opted to stay home.

Dean winced as he brought his arm down, rotating his left shoulder surreptitiously, trying, Jo knew, to ease the ache.

"Dean, will you help me with this? I'm about at the point where I'd just as soon dump this mess in the trash and buy all new stuff."

She was untangling a box full of reins and halters, ropes and bridles. They'd gotten everything second-hand, and the savings on buying all new tack had been considerable. She wasn't anywhere close to giving up, but some additional help would be appreciated.

She smiled innocently in the face of his somewhat suspicious glance.

"Please? I need Luke's eye for that job anyway, and I know he'd rather focus on the door than have me asking for his opinion every five seconds."

There was a grunt from the doorway. "You got that right."

Jo ducked her head to hide her smile – Luke would have stopped everything he was doing to help her hang tack, if only she asked and they both knew it. But even if he wasn't sure exactly what she was doing, he backed her without a second thought.

Shrugging, Dean set the hammer down and joined her cross-legged on the floor. He reached a hand into the box and pulled out a jumbled ball of leather and metal and hemp. Frowning in concentration, he started sorting through the lines.

"Thank you," she said.

She watched him through her lashes as he concentrated on his task. His color was better, and the pinched look he'd been wearing when the boys had arrived had eased considerably. That look had left Sam, too, for the most part. But there was still something that lingered with Sam that she thought had little to do with what had gone on between the brothers before they'd come home. It made her uneasy.

But Jo had been grateful for the effect of Luke's talk on Sam. Over the next couple of days Sam seemed to have sorted through what Luke had said, and Jo had watched him steady, gradually accepting the forgiveness she didn't think Dean had even realized he'd needed to offer, but that had been there anyway—without thought on Dean's part—only needing to be taken up by Sam.

Jo had felt the tension between the two of them dissipate, and the tightness in her own heart had eased watching them return to some semblance of normal—Sam now focusing his attention on taking care of his brother, and Dean shrugging him off with rolled eyes and gentle (for now) sarcasm.

Jo had been careful in her own coddling of Dean. She'd learned that the best way to get him to accept help was to act like that wasn't what was being offered. It wasn't the only way any more – there were times, if it was just the two of them, when he let her see his need, when he took the comfort offered without protest.

But she didn't push for those moments, let them come as they would. She was content, for the most part, to continue in this game of "Let's pretend" that seemed to make the healing process more acceptable to Dean.

Dean cleared his throat, eyes on his project. Both Jo and Luke looked over at him.

"Thanks for whatever you said to Sam about what happened," he said softly.

Luke and Jo exchanged glances. There was something in Dean's voice that had Luke moving their direction.

"You're welcome," Luke said carefully. He stood next to Jo, looking down at the two of them.

Dean continued to fiddle with the traces in his hands. Not untangling, but worrying.

Jo found herself holding her breath. _This is it_ , she thought with a kind of terrified anticipation.

"Dad..." He stopped.

"Before he died... Dad told me... He said... He said I might have to kill Sam."

Nothing in her life could have prepared Jo for that, and she felt Luke's shock in the utter stillness of his body beside her before he sank down into a crouch between her and Dean.

"He told me he was proud of me and to take care of Sammy, and then he... he said I had to save him. To save Sam. And that if I didn't... if I couldn't... save him... I... I'd have to... kill him."

Dean finally raised his face to them.

"He told me not to be afraid," Dean's voice hitched, and Jo swallowed back tears at the bewilderment and pain in the sound, "and then he... he told me..."

He didn't finish the sentence, couldn't say it again, and Jo saw the muscles in his jaw working jerkily as Dean struggled for control.

Luke shifted, a hand reaching out to rest on the back of Dean's neck.

"OK," Luke breathed. "OK." Dean's head went down under the slight pressure of Luke's palm, and Jo saw the flash of a tear fall before Dean raised a hand to his face, brushing at the wetness, drawing things back into himself.

Jo scooted around until she was in front of him, taking his hands in hers, covering their iciness with the warmth from her own. She wanted nothing more than to hold him until the horror went away, but with an ache recognized that nothing she did could make this better.

So they sat in the silence, Jo in front and Luke behind.

Jo felt Dean shift and saw Luke take his hand away after a brief squeeze.

"Was this what you couldn't tell Sam?" Luke asked quietly. "What made him take off after you did tell him?"

Dean nodded, cleared his throat again.

"Yeah," he said, voice rough. "You can see why he was a little freaked out," he added dryly.

"Yeah," Luke agreed.

"Is this tied into the demon that possessed him?" Jo asked hesitantly.

"I don't know. Maybe. But maybe not." He shook his head. "That was a demon – not the yellow-eyed one, not the one that killed Mom and Jessica – we'd run into before, that we'd exorcised when everything was going on with Dad the first time. It said it didn't care about whatever plans the yellow-eyed demon had for Sam and the kids like him, but..."

Jo looked at Luke. _Plans? For Sam?_

Jo knew they'd need to come back to _that_. But for now, she'd focus on what she had some sort of context for.

"But you'd exorcised it. Doesn't that... kill it... or something?"

"It doesn't kill it. Sends it back to Hell. But it can work its way out again. That's what this one had done. And I guess they can hold grudges, too." He ran a tired hand over his eyes.

"It wanted to see how far it could push me, made Sam do... things... while I thought it was Sam. To see if it could get me to..."

He didn't seem to be able to finish the sentence.

"To kill Sam," Luke finished for him. "To do what your dad said you should."

Dean nodded and rose, detaching himself from Jo, moving away from Luke. He leaned against one of the posts, shoulders hunched in, head bent.

"On the bright side," he said, "Sam's been hounding me to promise to kill him, too, just in case, so if it comes to that at least..."

The laugh that he forced out was more of a sob, and this time Jo didn't stop herself, but got up and went to him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close.

He hung onto her like she was a lifeline, but when Dean stepped back, Jo let him, running a hand down his arm, giving his hand a squeeze.

Luke cleared his throat uneasily.

"What do you think your dad wants you to save Sam from?" he asked.

Dean shook his head, the weariness that had seemed to leave him in the last few days settling back on him in front of Jo's eyes.

"The Demon, I guess. Its plans for Sammy."

"What plans, Dean?" Jo asked.

Dean shook his head again. "We don't really know. Something about a war and soldiers..." He laughed harshly. "It sounds insane. Even to me."

He dropped back down to the ground, resting his head against the rough post.

"Sam thinks maybe this is his destiny. Like it's fate or something. That he's going to go evil. Like there's nothing I can do."

"I don't believe that," Luke said, voice hard.

Dean raised his head. _You don't?_ The question was in his eyes, like hope, even as he said, "I don't either." _I can't_.

"We all have choices to make," Luke said. "If this is..." _true_ – it hung there, not because Luke didn't believe Dean, but because he was still trying to wrap his head around it, "if this thing is after Sam, if it has plans for him, Sam's going to have to save himself, make some sort of choice..." He trailed off. Like he had any idea what he was talking about.

"Dad said it was up to me to save Sam," Dean said harshly.

Jo's eyes met Luke's and she considered her next words. She knew that Dean was thinking physically. That somehow he could keep the Demon from getting its hands on Sam, could keep his brother from physical harm. But Jo wasn't sure that was really the issue. She sat down next to him.

"Honey, if this is a battle for, well, for Sam's soul... if it's a matter of serving this demon, then Sam is going to have to save himself. He's the one who has to make the choice."

Dean's face went cold at her words.

Jo felt herself falter. She hadn't seen that look before – not directed at her.

Luke was quiet, watching them both.

Jo took a breath.

"Sam's a grown man, Dean. He's not a little boy who can have his choices made for him. You can't..."

"Watch me," he bit out. "I won't let him..."

"Do you think he'll make the choice to serve the Demon?" Luke interrupted him, questioning as he joined them on the floor.

"No," Dean said fiercely. "But it's strong, it might force him, and I..."

"Has it tried to force him?" Jo asked uncertainly. "This demon that possessed him wasn't _the_ Demon, right?"

Dean hesitated. "No. It wasn't." He thought for a minute. "It hasn't tried to force him – like possessed him or anything. And the other kids." His brow wrinkled. "They've talked about dreams, and a yellow-eyed man telling them things..."

_Other kids._ There it was again. But she wasn't going to pursue that right now. Couldn't.

"It seems to me like the Demon wants Sam to _choose_ it. To choose to serve it. To choose evil over good. Wouldn't that make it more of, I don't know, a success?"

Luke was nodding with her, and Dean's eyes went uncertainly from one to the other.

"Maybe your dad meant you needed to save Sam by making sure he makes the right choice, that he isn't blinded by revenge or anger or... whatever. Not physically saving him, but... spiritually?"

Dean swallowed, listening, and Jo thought, hearing.

"Dean, when you boys were staying with us last time, after the accident, your dad called to check on y'all, and he said something that makes me think he anticipated something like this."

Dean's eyes were wary. "What did he say?" She could hear the anger in the words, remembered the phone calls full of unvoiced rage and hurt, talking about his dad not being there. She bit her lip.

"I... I asked him to come here, to see y'all. I told him that you were hurting," Dean's jaw tightened at the memory and she hurried on, "and he said that it was better that way... the two of you without him. He said that you could protect Sam better because Sam would listen to you, would obey you when he wouldn't your dad anymore."

She could see the effect of her words on Dean. "I think he knew that you would be better at helping Sam make the right choice; Sam loves you, wants your approval, trusts you..."

"Sam loved Dad," Dean said tightly, defensive.

"Oh, honey, of course he did... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that he didn't. But... Sam's relationship with your father was... complicated, wasn't it? Hard in a way that it never was with you. And, I just think maybe your dad was afraid that that difficulty between them might put Sam in danger. He trusted your relationship with your brother."

She hesitated, and added softly, "When your dad saved you, baby, he knew he was saving Sam, too. He died for both of you."

Dean paled next to her, eyes suddenly blank.

"Sam told you" he said dully.

She nodded, glancing at Luke, who moved his head in agreement as well. That information had come out soon after Dean and Sam arrived, late one night when the house was asleep and Sam had sat on the front porch in his pajamas, Luke and Jo on the swing, pouring out the last encounter with the Demon, the three of them together again, beat up, defeated, Dean close to death – again – John giving his life for his son's.

Dean's rage and grief, Sam's own grief plus relief and a crushing guilt.

"Dean, I don't understand exactly what happened, but I think that your father did the only thing he knew to do to protect you and your brother. It wasn't just about you, sugar. It was about Sam, too."

She wondered if that would make this more palatable to Dean. If he would understand that his father would die to protect Sam. When he refused to see that he himself would be worth his father's life in John's eyes.

"I hate him for leaving me alone with this."

Dean's whisper tore a hole in Jo's heart, and she was helpless to stop the tears that started down her face at the anguish in Dean's voice.

"I know," Luke said. "But you won't always."

Dean's eyes came to Luke's.

"Some day you'll have kids of your own. And you'll understand that it wasn't even a choice in your dad's mind. He saw one way to save his sons, and he never even considered not doing what had to be done."

Luke paused and then continued, "It may feel like abandonment to you right now, kiddo. But it wasn't. It was love."

The tears that had been standing in Dean's eyes spilled over, and Luke put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I need a beer," he said, climbing to his feet. "Jo?"

Startled by the abrupt end to the conversation, she just nodded.

"Dean?"

Clearing his throat, Dean scrubbed his hands over his face. "Yeah," he said roughly. He huffed out a laugh. "One... or ten."

Luke chuckled and headed to the house.

Dean got up and walked back over to the box of tack.

"You want to finish this?" he asked, looking at her with a face still damp in spots, lashes spiked, eyes bright green. He angled his chin slightly, clearly struggling to regain control.

"Sure," she agreed, moving back across the floor.

In silence they started sorting again.

Finally she said quietly, "You're not alone, Dean."

He didn't look up.

"I know."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This is set before Tall Tales._

"So," Luke said. "I've gotten some interesting pictures from the Feds recently."

They were sitting in Luke's truck eating tater tots and drinking Cokes at the local Sonic.

Dean sucked in a surprised breath, and a piece of potato went down the wrong way. Luke smacked him on the back until he could breathe again.

"What?" Dean rasped, taking a cleansing sip of his drink.

"Wanted posters. From the FBI." Luke turned toward Dean. The look he was giving Dean was questioning – concerned, but not condemning. "Bank robbery." He paused. "Murder."

Dean felt the blood leave his face, ice in its wake, freezing his breath and his thoughts.

"Luke," he started, voice no more than a whisper.

"There hasn't been a good time to ask," Luke continued. "Jo doesn't know. I don't... I don't want her to worry about you and Sam any more than she already does." He took a deep breath and shook his head. "But, this is serious, Dean."

Dean nodded. "I know."

There was a long silence between them. Dean wasn't sure if he should try to explain. Didn't know what Luke expected of him, so he stayed still, waiting to see what the older man would do.

"What happened in Missouri?"

Dean swallowed. Of course that would be where Luke would want to start – Dean as a serial killer, and, you know, dead.

Haltingly, Dean told his story. Sam's friend in trouble... The shape-shifter... Coming in on the man in his own skin strangling his brother... Firing.

When he was finished, Dean waited again, eyes out the front windshield.

"And the bank?"

Another shape-shifter and a plan gone horribly wrong. Ronald... Henriksen.

Luke was thoughtful in the seat next to him.

"And this agent. Henriksen. He knew about your dad."

"Yeah. Said he knew all about us. That it was his job to bring us in." He rubbed a hand over his eyes and then cut his gaze to Luke. "We're totally screwed, aren't we?"

Luke snorted, still staring out the window.

"It sure ain't good, son," he said dryly.

Dean smiled tightly. He was oddly comforted by Luke's gruff assessment.

"What are you going to do?" Dean finally ventured.

Luke shifted in his seat, giving Dean his full attention.

"I don't know."

Dean swallowed back a wave of uncertainty. Maybe he could talk Luke into just turning him in, let Sam...

Luke sighed, stretching his arm out along the back of the seat.

"Matt and I can keep things under control on our end. And Miss Maddie told me she'd keep shredding the posters that come into the post office, but..."

Dean blinked.

"What?"

Luke huffed out a laugh. "Miss Maddie brought me the photos the feds sent of you and Sam. Wanted to know why the government was persecuting you poor, sweet boys." He grinned at Dean. "I told her it was a real travesty, you boys getting framed for crimes you didn't commit. And she told me she wouldn't be part of locking up two innocent creatures like you and your brother."

Dean was flabbergasted. Sweet, vague, _kind_ Miss Maddie...

"Matt knows, too?" Dean couldn't really get his head around what Luke was saying.

"Couldn't really keep it from him. He gets the same alerts I do."

"He was so pissed about the Potter thing, I..."

Luke shrugged.

"He cooled off."

"How did you explain...?"

"Told him some of it. Asked him to trust me on the rest."

If Luke seemed completely unconcerned about Matt's discretion, it still made Dean nervous. To have his life and Sam's in the hands of Matt and Miss Maddie, people he didn't really _know_ , to rely on them not to...

"I don't know, Luke. I..."

"We don't have a lot of choice, Dean," Luke said. "They know. And there's no way around that."

Dean nodded reluctantly, felt the itch of _getoutgetoutgetout._

But they'd been here for days. Seen Miss Maddie. Actually talked to Matt—still curt—on the phone. And no feds. Yet.

Dean watched the girl on roller-skates delivering lunch to a car across the patio.

"I don't know what to do."

Dean admitted it quietly.

Luke didn't respond.

"All I can figure is to keep running. Stay ahead of this guy. Because I don't... I don't see how we can clear ourselves. On any of this stuff." He paused. "I don't really care about that for me. I don't mind moving around. Or what people think." He shrugged. "It's kind of all I know." He paused.

"But for Sam..."

Luke didn't say anything, and Dean stayed quiet beside him. Waited.

There was a peace in this, in talking with someone, with Luke.

But there was a deep ache, too.

Pressure in the center of his chest.

_Missing_ _Dad_.

Dean closed his eyes, leaned against the passenger side window.

Finally, Luke nodded. Sighed.

"I don't know either, Dean."

Luke reached for the ignition and turned over the engine.

"But it's not good for either of you. Sam _or_ you. And us knowing the truth isn't the same as having the good name both of you boys deserve."

He looked at Dean, who raised his head to meet Luke's eyes. The sheriff shifted the truck into reverse.

"We'll figure something out," he said.

Dean swallowed back the rush of relief and gratitude Luke's words engendered in him. He didn't know that he'd realized how much he'd needed this, needed having someone who believed in him, in Sam. In them.

He cleared his throat. "Thanks."

* * *

Bobby Singer sat in his truck and cased the joint.

It was a pleasant enough little place. Clean white paint, emerald green doors. Well-kept.

Bobby swung open the door and stepped out. He walked slowly toward the diner.

"Sit anywhere," called a woman in a starched uniform as he wandered into the room.

Bobby nodded and made his way toward the booth he saw empty in the back corner. He was sliding onto the bench when the woman who'd spoken to him set a glass of water on the table.

"Coffee?" she asked.

"Please," he said.

She nodded with a smile.

Bobby stretched his arms along the back of the seat and slouched a bit as he scanned the patrons.

It hadn't taken him long to put together the pieces he'd gleaned from the Winchesters during their last visit. He'd known they weren't telling him everything. They'd been deliberately vague, making off-handed references to one another about a "Jo" (not "Joe" and not Ellen's girl) and "Luke" and something about "the boys." Changed the subject if Bobby tried to ask.

Bobby wasn't Sam's or Dean's daddy. Didn't have the right to expect them to keep him appraised of where they were or who they were with. And he wasn't John to expect them to isolate themselves or keep clear of anyone outside the hunt. But he wasn't some stranger either. He cared about these boys, and he wasn't about to _not_ check up on them if he felt like it. He owed John Winchester that much. The stupid, stubborn son of a bitch.

So Bobby had set to work. He took what he knew and started to research. It hadn't take long for him to find full names and a place.

Chew on _that_ , Winchesters.

When the waitress came back, Bobby ordered the special—meat loaf with mashed potatoes and gravy. He read the paper while he waited, keeping an eye on the diner around him.

The food came and Bobby took his time eating it. He planned on lingering until he saw Sam and Dean or at least until he got a feel for this place and these people who seemed important to them.

He'd been there about 45 minutes when the woman who'd been keeping him in coffee – Marge according the plastic badge over her breast – was replaced by another. No nametag on this one. But close to his own age with a pleasant smile and kind eyes.

"Refill?" She held up the coffee carafe in invitation. Bobby nodded. His plate had been cleared, and he was almost finished working his way through the local paper.

"We've got a good Icebox pie if you're interested in something else," she offered. Bobby considered.

"Sure," he agreed.

She moved off, stopping at tables to pour coffee, chatting with some of the patrons, laughing or scoffing at comments thrown her way.

Soon enough she was back with his dessert. She set it on the table in front of him, topping off his mug while she was at it.

"Got a long haul ahead of you?" she asked casually.

Bobby shrugged. "Checking up on the kids of a friend of mine," he said, picking up his fork.

She paused when he answered her and put the coffee pot down.

"They going to appreciate that?" she asked with a slight smile.

Bobby was caught off-guard by her question and then chuckled a little ruefully.

"Probably not," he admitted, with a grin.

She grinned back at him. "Kids today," she said.

"Ungrateful brats."

She tilted her head back and laughed out loud. Bobby found his grin deepening in response.

There was a commotion at the front door that distracted them both.

She turned her head, taking in the teenagers who had just spilled through the door. She looked back at him.

"Speaking of ungrateful brats," she said fondly. "Let me know if you need anything else, OK?"

Bobby nodded, watching her weave through the tables toward the group of kids who had entered the diner. Three teenage girls were sliding into a booth, and one boy about the same age tossed his backpack onto the seat next to them even as he followed two younger boys toward the woman.

One of the two younger boys hugged the woman and Bobby heard a slightly breathless, "Hey, Aunt Jo."

Bobby raised an eyebrow, all attention now on the woman and the kids.

Jo returned the boy's hug, kissing him on the top of his head as she reached out a hand toward the other boy, tugging gently on an earlobe. The kid smiled up at her.

"Hey, Mrs. Swede."

Bobby couldn't hear everything they were saying, but he caught "school" and "milkshake" and maybe "Sam" and something about "homework" before the boys headed for the counter, climbing up on the barstools, spinning around and laughing.

The older boy had waited impatiently for his turn, and this was a slightly different conversation.

This one was quieter, and he watched as the woman maneuvered the boy away from the table of girls who were talking in whispers and peeking at the boy and Jo.

The kid leaned closer and it looked to Bobby like he was pleading his case, face earnest. The woman was listening, though something about the set of her shoulders told Bobby she wasn't particularly happy with what was being said. Her head turned toward the table of girls, and one of them waved at her breezily.

"Hi, Mrs. Swede," she said brightly, all pretty-girl confidence and self-awareness.

Jo raised her hand at the girl, but it wasn't a particularly enthusiastic response.

The boy was saying something urgently, and Bobby watched as Jo finally shrugged her acquiescence. The kid grinned, then sobered slightly when the woman added something. He scowled, but nodded, slouching off to join the girls, who all started to chatter excitedly as he joined the one who had waved, hooking a casual arm around her shoulders.

Turning, Jo met Bobby's gaze, and Bobby felt himself flush at having been caught staring.

But the woman just smiled, rolling her eyes as she headed toward the counter and the two younger boys.

Bobby ate his pie slowly, enjoying it immensely. He wasn't sure how much longer he could draw out sitting here and was considering how to approach the woman about the Winchesters when the boys in question made their appearance.

They came in through the swinging door from the kitchen, Dean picking up a gray tub behind the counter as Sam dropped onto one of the stools next to the two younger boys. He spun around once before he slung an arm over the shoulders of the boy who had greeted "Aunt Jo."

"Sam!" Both of the boys were clearly thrilled with his presence, and Sam leaned over just a little more, momentarily extending the arm that had been around the one boy to dig a finger into the other kid's ribs as a "hello." The child gave a stifled shriek, squirming away. Sam retracted his arm, draping it back across the other boy's shoulders. Carelessly, he swiped the tall glass in front of the kid, taking a long pull from the milkshake as the kid watched, unperturbed.

Dean said something Bobby couldn't hear, snatching a cherry off the milkshake Sam was holding.

"Dean!" the boy protested loudly.

"Tommy!" Dean mocked with the same amount of outrage in his voice, popping the cherry into his mouth. He pulled the stem off and dropped it back into the shake.

"Gross!" was the delighted response. Dean grinned and headed for a table that needed clearing.

"No, don't get up, Sammy," Dean said as he passed his younger brother. "Wouldn't want you to break a nail or anything there, princess."

Sam grinned as his brother went by, swiveling the stool around to follow Dean's progress across the room.

"OK, I won't," he said agreeably. "I'll just..." He trailed off.

"Bobby?"

"No. It's 'Dean,' genius," Dean replied irritably, turning to his brother. But he tracked Sam's gaze to Bobby in the booth.

"Boys," Bobby said.

Sam slid off his stool and then into the booth across from Bobby.

"What are you doing here?"

Dean joined them, slipping in next to Sam, propping the empty tub on the table.

"Road trip," Bobby responded.

Dean arched an eyebrow at him. "And you just happened to stop here?"

Bobby took a sip of his coffee.

"Are you checking up on us, Bobby?"

Sam asked it, the look on his face both disbelieving and grudgingly amused.

Bobby didn't answer that question either.

"Nice place," he said instead.

"Yeah," said Sam.

Bobby glanced over at the counter. The two boys were staring unabashedly. One kid—Tommy—suddenly hopped off his stool and walked over to them. He stood next to Dean, leaning against his shoulder.

"Hi," he said watching Bobby with open curiosity. This one had never met a stranger. "Do you know Dean and Sam?"

"Yeah, I do," Bobby said. Dean shifted so that he could put an arm around the younger boy. He did it easily, Bobby noted, not really even conscious of the gesture.

"Tommy, this is our friend Bobby." Sam made the introductions. "Bobby, this is Tommy."

Bobby held out a hand and with a grin, the kid reached out and took it, giving it a firm shake.

"Good grip," Bobby said with approval. The boy's grin widened.

"Hello."

Jo was back, standing slightly behind Tommy.

"Hey."

All three men scrambled somewhat awkwardly out of the booth.

"Jo." Dean took over. "Uh, this is a friend of our family, Bobby Singer. Bobby, this is Jo Swede."

Bobby tugged off the cap he'd forgotten to remove when he sat down.

"Ma'am," he said.

"Mr. Singer," Jo responded, extending her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Bobby returned the courtesy with a smile.

"And you."

There was a moment of uneasy silence.

"Are these the kids you're checking up on?" Jo asked suddenly, eyes lighting with amusement.

Bobby nodded.

"They are."

Dean rolled his eyes.

Bobby swatted Dean on the back of his head.

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed.

"Ungrateful is right," Jo sighed.

Tommy's eyes were round as they went from Dean to Bobby.

"Will you join us for supper, Mr. Singer?"

He'd just eaten, but...

"Yes, ma'am, I will. Thank you."

"Good," she said. "Dean, Sam. Y'all want to show Mr. Singer around?" She said it pleasantly, like it was a suggestion, but Bobby knew it wasn't. So did Sam and Dean.

"Uh, sure," Dean agreed.

"We'll let you catch up, but supper's at 6, OK?"

* * *

Bobby hadn't been sure what to expect with being shown around, but after the initial awkwardness with the Winchester boys, it had been an interesting little tour of the property. Dean had grabbed a master key from the front desk, flirting casually with the girl there, and then led Bobby, Sam trailing, to one of the rooms closest to the diner.

"There's no one in 13," he said, fitting the key in the lock after he'd knocked.

Bobby had been impressed by the workmanship he was shown and listened attentively to the recitation of the remodel, paying particular attention to the personal details that were sprinkled unthinkingly through the story – laughing with Sam at the boys sand-papering and painting the closet (it really did look good), sobering slightly at Dean sick with pneumonia.

Ultimately, they'd ended up back at the house, sitting on the front porch, drinking the beer Sam had fetched from the kitchen.

"So'd your dad ever meet these folks?"

The stilted silence and looks exchanged by Dean and Sam told him John had.

Bobby shook his head, took another draw on his beer.

"It didn't go particularly well," Sam said.

Bobby bet it hadn't.

Dean cleared his throat. "I think he came around eventually."

Sam gave Dean a questioning look.

Dean lifted a shoulder, "Jo said Dad called when we came that time after we'd split with him."

Sam's brows drew down. Dean didn't meet Sam's eyes.

"He wanted to make sure we were OK and, I guess, knew we'd head here." Dean picked at the label on the bottle in his hand. "Jo said... well, she didn't say he was pissed off."

Bobby could tell Sam knew there was more to that conversation than Dean was telling, the same way Bobby did. Damn, the kid was transparent when you knew him.

"Dean...," Sam started.

"I'm glad they met, then," Bobby interrupted, knowing Dean wouldn't want to get into it with Sam while Bobby was there.

Dean's jaw tightened and then relaxed. "Yeah," he said softly.

Sam's eyes went from Dean to Bobby and back again.

Mercifully, he decided to let it drop.

Bobby pushed off slightly with his toes, setting the swing into motion. It was a nice day just to sit, he thought.

When the truck pulled up, Bobby was surprised to see a man in a sheriff's uniform get out. The lights on the top of the cab should have clued him in, but you never seemed to know these days what yahoos had decided they needed flashing lights to add some sense of importance to their humdrum lives.

Neither Sam or Dean seemed concerned.

"Hey, Luke," Sam called easily.

"Gentlemen."

The man put a booted foot on the first step up to the house. Paused there, assessing Bobby.

Bobby felt his hackles rise and forced himself not to react. He hated being looked at by the cops.

"Luke, this is Bobby Singer. He's a friend of Dad's." A hesitation. "Of ours."

Dean stayed where he was seated on the top step, elbows casually on his knees. Long-neck dangling between his fingers.

The sheriff's face shifted almost imperceptibly, and Bobby realized he was being judged under a different standard now.

"Mr. Singer," he said neutrally, coming the rest of the way onto the porch. Held out his hand.

"Sheriff," Bobby said just as blandly as he stood and took it, gave it a perfunctory shake.

"Bobby's staying for supper," Sam said casually, still on the swing.

"Good," said Luke. "You're welcome." He looked down at Dean. "You boys leave any for me?"

Dean grinned, twisting to look back up at Luke. "Maybe," he allowed.

Luke grunted and moved past them. "You better have," he said.

The door closed shut behind him.

Bobby raised an eyebrow at Dean.

"The sheriff?" he asked quietly, disapproving.

Dean shrugged, tilting his bottle up to get the last of the beer.

"He's a good guy, Bobby," he said. As if that was the end of it.

"Dean..."

"Bobby, he knows."

Bobby blinked. "What?"

"He knows." This was from Sam, softly. "Jo knows." He took a deep breath. "They all know."

"They all..." Bobby's voice came out in a strangled croak. "The kids?"

Both boys nodded.

He opened his mouth to... what? Yell? Ask what the hell they were thinking? He didn't know. But it didn't matter because suddenly the sheriff was there, too, beer in hand.

Luke sat down next to Dean. Put four more cold beers beside him on the porch. Dean nodded his thanks, tossed one to Sam and Bobby before taking up his own. Luke moved his to the side where it couldn't be swiped.

"Y'all been catching up?" Luke asked.

All three men nodded.

"How long have you known Dean and Sam, Mr. Singer?" he asked.

"Bobby," he said shortly. "A while."

Luke nodded. Didn't take offense at Bobby's abruptness.

"I bet you've got some good stories, then," he said conversationally, even as he cut Dean a sly look. Bobby saw Dean stiffen.

"Uh," Dean was starting to shake his head. "No. Bobby..."

To his right, Bobby noticed that Sam had also suddenly come to attention. "Yeah. Bobby..."

Now Bobby grinned wickedly, pointing the long neck of his bottle at Luke.

"Oh, I've got stories," he said.

* * *

Dinner with the Swede family was a delight. Primarily because Bobby got to spend the entire evening telling embarrassing stories on the Winchester boys.

And he could not have had a more appreciative audience.

Luke had actually cried he was laughing so hard when Bobby told the story of when 7-year-old Dean had decided to be a cowboy and wandered out into a field of cows and then been afraid the docile milk cows were going to stampede. The boy had spent 3 hours in a tree screaming for his father before he'd been found, hungry and tear-stained, surrounded by a bovine crowd munching contentedly on the clover around him.

"You weren't even there!" Dean protested loudly. "How...?"

"Son, you don't think Jim was on the phone 15 minutes after they talked you out of the tree?"

Dean scowled and hunched over his plate. "Stampedes are dangerous," he muttered under his breath, glaring at Sam in case his brother was thinking about laughing.

Sam was not.

In fact, he was doing what he could to make himself as small as possible, keeping his mouth shut and hoping he could avoid further humiliation. Bobby's rendition of the time Sam had wet his pants because he'd thought the shower curtain was a ghost had been plenty. The fact that there had been enormous clown faces on the white sheet had been the final thing that had sent him over the edge.

"You thought the ghost had clown faces on it?" Jake had gasped once he'd caught his breath.

Sam had decided not to dignify that with an answer.

Dean had thought that was pretty funny at the time.

_Not laughing so hard now, are you, jerk?_ Sam thought pettily.

After supper, Dean and Sam had jumped at the chance to clear the table, overriding the usual admonition to let the boys do it. Bobby could hear the sound of giggles and threats coming from the kitchen and the crash of something that made Jo jump and start to rise.

"We got it!"

Dean's voice. Going for "nothing to see here," Bobby knew from experience.

"Don't worry, we've got it under control." There was the sound of muted scuffling and some yelps.

"Boys?" Luke raised his voice.

"It's OK!"

Sam now, although he sounded kind of breathless. More muffled commotion and Tommy stumbled into the room, clothes slightly messed, grinning. He picked up the last of the serving dishes on the table.

"Jake just fell over a chair," he reported. "Dean..."

"Tommy!" Dean barked as he entered the room, clapping a quick hand over the boy's mouth and turning him back toward the kitchen. He gave the child a shove out the door.

Dean's smile, when he turned to the "adults," was a study in innocence.

"Jo, do you want me to get the dessert?" he asked.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him.

"I better not have to wipe blood up off my clean kitchen floor," she warned.

Dean gave her a wide-eyed look.

_I don't know what in the world you could be talking about._

"And coffee?" he offered, giving her his most solicitous smile.

Jo pressed her lips together in an effort not to return the smile lest he think she was _completely_ helpless in the face of this blatant attempt to charm her.

"Please," she said.

He nodded.

"Coming right up."

They sat in silence for a moment after Dean left the room, waiting. There was no sound from the other room except the occasional clatter of a plate or a laugh.

"I guess you've got your hands full," Bobby said.

"They certainly have their moments," Jo agreed.

Bobby nodded, thought for a minute.

"I haven't seen them this... happy in a long time," he said softly. His eyes when he met Jo's and Luke's were somber.

"They feel safe here," he continued. And he knew it wasn't necessarily physically, although there might be that, too, in a way. It was an emotional safety. Something neither of the boys had had for awhile.

"They've needed that."

"We love them," Jo said gently.

Bobby wondered if she'd said that before. To John. Wondered how the other man would have responded.

Bobby nodded again. That much was obvious. "I do, too," he admitted.

The smile on Luke's face told Bobby he wasn't telling the Swedes anything they didn't already know.

"You know they're in a mess of trouble, don't you?"

Luke's eyes went swiftly to Jo before he answered.

"Yeah."

There was something in Luke's slightly furtive glance and the flash of puzzlement on Jo's face that kept Bobby from continuing.

"Wait." Jo was giving her husband a confused look. "What kind of trouble? Other than..."

She didn't get any further. Dessert and coffee were served.

In the minimally controlled chaos of the boys cutting cake and pouring coffee, Bobby gave Luke an apologetic look that was returned ruefully. Jo was watching her husband with a troubled crease between her eyes, and Luke reached out to squeeze her hand, lifting it to place a kiss on her knuckles.

If Jo's expression softened, it didn't ease completely, and Bobby suspected that there would be a long talk between the two of them tonight.

* * *

Bobby left not long after they finished dessert, declining the offer to stay the night, saying truthfully that he preferred driving at night when the roads were quiet.

He said good-bye to Jo and Luke and the boys and walked with Sam and Dean back out to his truck, still parked in front of the diner.

He slammed the door, rolling down his window.

"They're good folks," he said.

"Yeah, they are," Dean said quietly.

Bobby nodded. He turned the key in the ignition and shifted into reverse.

"You boys keep safe, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," they answered.

In the fading light, Sam and Dean stood shoulder to shoulder, watching Bobby drive away until they were lost from sight in his rear-view mirror.

_End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Hollow. It seemed like an OK place to stop to me. I will probably continue to give glances of Luke and Jo's reactions to what's going on with Dean and Sam, primarily because I can't seem to stop myself.


End file.
